The man is clearly an adventurer. In the seventeenth century he would
have worn huge flintlock pistols stuck into a wide leather belt, and
been something in the seafaring line. The fellow is always smartly
dressed, but where he lives and how he lives are as unknown as "what
song the Sirens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself
among women." He is a man who apparently has no appointment with his
breakfast and whose dinner is a chance acquaintance. His probable banker
is the next person. A great city like this is the only geography for
such a character. He would be impossible in a small country town, where
everybody knows everybody and what everybody has for lunch.
I HAVE been seeking, thus far in vain, for the proprietor of the saying
that "Economy is second or third cousin to Avarice." I went rather
confidently to Rochefoucauld, but it is not among that gentleman's light
luggage of cynical maxims.
THERE is a popular vague impression that butchers are not allowed to
serve as jurors on murder trials.
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